Welcome Home!!

So...we forgot to switch over the utilities and ended up on an adventure throughout downtown, trying to get it all taken care of today. Thankfully, the utilities will be back on tomorrow. I'd cry myself a river over the fiasco, but after our landlord confessed that the police found her mother, deceased, in a car this weekend; things don't really seem that bad for our family.

Until everything is worked out, please enjoy this brief pictorial update, compliments of the wonderful Fort Worth Public Library internets.

 Sometimes, you just gotta sit for a minute.

"Did you just see that nekkid chick on TV?!?!"

 

 

 The Plan

"Munchie's Hotdogs" 

The only reliable street vendor.
Very cool guy = )

A bad day turned to triumph.

The Hug

On Friday, when I took Adam to OKC for his visitation with AJ, I didn't feel apprehensive. There wasn’t any need to; AJ and I were learning how to be civil each other and doing a fine job at it. (It only took us six years.) With the car engine off, I looked in the mirror and saw Adam totally passed out in the backseat. I got out of the car, and AJ spotted me immediately from across the parking lot. Before I even had time to say hello, he walked over and scooped me up into his arms and bear hugged me; "It's good to see you babe!” 

The hug took me by surprise, firstly, because my feet were no longer touching the ground. Secondly; because I couldn't recall the last time AJ hugged me. “It’s good to see you too AJ”, and I laughed a little as I said that. He set me back on the ground. I noticed the sun glistening off his newly shaven head and immediately wanted to know; "Why did you shave your head?!?!" He rubbed his head where platinum blonde spikes once stood. We both suddenly remembered what the texture of his hair felt like, coarse and abrasive, all gone.

"A new start...A new life,” he explained.

“New hair…or rather NO hair,” I replied.
 
He shot me the cheesiest of grins; payment for the wittiest joke he'd heard all day.

Since January 2010, I noticed he started cutting people, destructive vices, (and now hair, apparently) from his life. He was making progress in his quest to get his life reorganized; sincere and genuine progress. Every time I had talked to him on the phone in the past few months, he was positive about the future. Now that we were face-to-face, I had to give him credit. He was sticking to the plans he made for himself. I was proud of him. 

Our life paths; once intertwined then took separate exits; re-intersected that Friday, in the parking lot of a McDonald’s restaurant near Interstate 44. I never dreamed our life paths would meet at the same place, at the same time, ever again.

I used to tell people that AJ and I didn’t work out because what we had wasn’t love. Maybe it was? Maybe it wasn’t? I’m still not completely sure. The only thing I knew for sure, from this moment our paths intersected the second time around; I loved him now. 

Does that mean we’re getting back together?

No. 

The journey we shared in our past is scattered throughout photographs.
Though our paths intersected again; today, we're different people.

The hug he gave me felt like being reunited with long lost family. 

"Just like that..."

Lazy Sunday, and I'm getting ready to head back to DFW tomorrow. The few days I've spent in Oklahoma flew by fast. I spent the majority of my visit with the two most important people in my life; my mother and Adam. I also got to see my favorites; Brandi, Jana, Amanda, Tiffani, and Blake. It felt good to see all of their familiar smiles. Friday, I met up with my ex-husband AJ, for his visitation time with Adam. Our brief chit-chat left me with a bit of solace, for the first time in a while.

I must confess, coming home this time was somber. That perception has nothing to do with anyone except for myself. Up until now, I continued question whether or not leaving Oklahoma was the right thing to do. I kept feeling like there was something I still hadn't finished there, like loose ends hanging in mid-air. 

I couldn't shake the feeling all weekend, until Saturday evening, sitting in almost complete silence with my mother. We were watching T.V in the living room.; me on the couch, and her across from me on the love seat. We weren't really watching T.V., but it served as white noise to soften the dead air. She was working on her crossword puzzle and I was reading a Cosmo magazine. Finally, I broke our silent vow.

"I don't know what I'm doing here." I said. 

She leaned over and picked up the remote control off the carpet, then turned down the white noise; "I don't want to seem rude, like I don't like having you around, but you don't need to come back and forth anymore. Adam and I are okay. He's coming back to live with you in May. You need to finish getting yourself settled in Texas until then." 

I wanted to offer a rebuttal, but as she began turning up the T.V. volume, I realized I had nothing to contest. Just like that, my purpose for being in Oklahoma came to its end.

Adam's Cosmic Winter Rebellion

"...on a plane, sippin' champagne."

It didn't take much effort on Monday to pack for my trip to Oklahoma. Most of my smaller, tedious items that I normally forget, (shampoo, conditioner, socks, etc...), were still packed from traveling to the show at The Trees in Dallas, and STXE in San Antonio. When I woke up that Monday morning, my body was still trying to thaw out from the eerie, out-of-season temperatures we experienced at the STXE event. I was still wearing three layers of clothing.

I forced myself out of bed and darted toward the bathroom to get started on my day. In a rush, I tripped over my luggage that was sitting, open and unzipped, on the bedroom floor. "Shit! That hurt!", I said to myself, and immediately began rubbing my toes. "That's gonna leave a mark", and I slowly picked myself up and sauntered over to the foot of the bed and sat down. I stared at the half-full, half-empty, black suitcase that remained stoic and unmoved on the hardwood floor. I wanted to blame the suitcase for causing my latest injury but I couldn't. Instead, I decided to shrug it off, and add the incident to my list: "Things I've done on accident which resulted in physical injury."

The thought of going to Oklahoma to see Adam, my mother, and my friends, was enough to motivate me to move on with the day. I stood up and declared, "Let's try this one more time." Wobbly with the weight of my added clothing, I balanced myself, and walked to the bathroom. The morning sunlight was subtle and soft, like carefully plotted stage light, that only could have been created by an anal-retentive light designer. It was different watching the sunrise this way. Entering through the frosted glass, the light was evenly distributed throughout my entire bathroom.

I began looking for my toothbrush and noticed a peculiar shadow on the bathroom wall. I tried to designate a reasonable shape to it, but came to the conclusion that the shadow had to belong to a hybrid T-Rex/Stegosaurus. When I turned around to open the towel cabinet, I giggled because I realized the shadow was cast by the over sized hoodie and mounds of clothes I still had on. I took a few steps backward, into the spotlight of the sunlight. I tilted my head up slowly, then mimicked a dinosaur RAWRR, in slow motion. 

I find something in everything.

~

After I took a shower, and everything was packed, I headed downtown to board the Amtrak. I was surprised at the amount of people on the train that Monday. I'd never been on the train with more than ten other strangers in my cab. The announcer came on with an order; 

Everyone needs to take their bags out of all empty seats because we still have passengers boarding. 

I immediately looked over the seats in front of me and saw a line of people walking up the small staircase to board. I glanced at the row across from me and saw a young girl wearing marked up Chuck Taylor's. I started to lean across the aisle to ask if I could sit in the empty seat next to her. I feared staying in my own seat because I thought I may end up having to share my space with an annoying old lady, or some douche bag guy that wouldn't stop talking the entire trip. As I gathered my things to move, I realized my motivation for seat hopping was based from a negative energy:

Fear.

On this new, pursuit of happiness, campaign I've been on, I didn't want to start falling into old, unproductive habits. I thought to myself, "Let's see what happens if you stay here", and I sat back down. I put my backpack on the floor and leaned over in my seat to look down the aisle. 

That's when I saw her.

She was wearing a red and black plaid, winter coat. I didn't understand why because it was hot that afternoon. Her short, semi-spiky blonde-do was framed by two, slightly longer pieces, of hot-pink strips of hair that hung forward on her face. She was wearing standard issue, black rimmed, emo glasses. Coincidentally, I was too. She looked like she didn't care where she sat because she was engaged with her cell phone. The closer she got, I noticed she was wearing a Texas Longhorns t-shirt underneath her coat. But what stood out to me, most of all; She didn't have any carry-on luggage.

Finally, she reached my row. 

"You can sit here", I said, and I moved to the empty seat in my row and offered her my aisle seat. She looked away from her phone in my general direction; "Cool, thanks", and she plopped down in the seat. Maneuvering the leg rests, she reclined the seat and made herself at home with ease, like she'd done this a million times. She continued on and off with her phone, calling someone she knew to let them know she was on the train. I looked out the window as the train began to depart. 

"So...do you live in Ft.Worth?" I asked her. "No, I live in OKC. That's where I go to school. I go to beauty school up there. I'm originally from Texas though", she replied. I nodded my head, "Cool, cool", and I tried to lean my own seat back, but was unsuccessful. So instead, I slumped down and leaned against the cushioned back, and propped my feet on the tiny foot rest on the floor.

She looked down at my feet and asked, "How do you wear those all day?"

She was referring to the pair of black, Stiletto boots I was wearing. I wore them as part of my work attire and forgot they weren't considered an everyday, causal shoe. I told her it was just force of habit to wear them, and explained to her about the world of promo modeling, marketing, and event work. She had tons of questions because she was interested in these occupations. Once we started talking, we hit it off. Her spunky style, free-spirited ideals, and air of confidence reminded me of my BFF, Brandi. 

"When is your birthday?" I asked this new girl, about an hour into our gab session. I wanted to know because, though I already guessed her to be an Aquarius, I wanted to know for sure. She confirmed my intuitive feeling because her birthday was January 30th.

Yep, she was an Aquarius. 

The lengthy ride on the train flew by as we continued to share pieces of our life. We flipped through the April 2010 issue of Cosmo together, looked at pictures of her family and friends, and gushed about our dreams.. We found some common ground on our artistic career goals and I offered her some advice on how to get into the promo industry and into technical theatre. She was now slumped down in her seat too and mimicked holding a champagne glass. She said;

Just think, one day we'll be sittin' on a plane, sippin' champagne. We'll be super famous by that time and we'll talk about this ride and how we met.

She was so full of life and hope. I admired her. 

"How old are you?" I asked my BFF from another dimension. 

"17", she confessed. 

I was floored. This girl had already graduated HS and was continuing her education. Because she CHOSE to, not because anyone forced her into it. Her conversation skills were at par for a twenty-something and she was educated in everything we talked about; from politics, to dating, and music. "That's so rad!" I told her, "You're not even 18 and you have plans for your life. I wish I could have had a mind-set like that at 17! That's so cool that you're young and you know what you want. You're taking the steps to get there, consciously.You'll get everything you want out of life, I promise. I want you to know you seriously made my day." 

She smiled. "I was so nervous I was going to have to sit by some creepy guy or some annoying old lady..." 

"Me too! I'm so glad I didn't move to another seat and I got to meet you! What is your name by the way?" I asked her.

"Ashley", she replied.

"Well Ms. Ashley, I'm Liz. " 

When we arrived at my stop; Norman, OK, Ashley and I exchanged information. We hugged it out to seal the deal on our new found bond. It was sad parting ways with this kindred spirit, but I know our paths will cross again someday;

...on a plane, sippin' champagne.  
We'll be super famous by that time and we'll talk about this ride and how we met.

Saturday, Sunday, & Today (w/pics!!!)

Saturday March 20, 2010

“I need you to wake up Liz.”

I opened my eyes and looked over at Mr.V. It was late Saturday night. He had been driving all day, from Dallas to San Antonio; then back, to get us to our gig with Escaping Gravity. (It’s true; Mr. V makes shit happen one way or another; even if it means sacrificing all of his time.) “Text Andy and tell him they need to watch out for black ice and it’s snowing,” he said; “Oh and can you grab one of those energy drinks from the back? Please and thank you.” I didn’t mind because I knew why he was waking me up. He was getting drowsy. Combine that with the freakish weather and it wasn’t the best condition for driving, especially alone.

I threw off my blanket, undid my seat belt and climbed into the backseat. It took me a few minutes to wake up and get my head back in the game. I ran my hands over shirts, bandanas, cuzis, and bags. Finally, I felt one of the little boxes of Venom energy drinks, tore it open with one hand, and pulled out one of the cans. I climbed back into the passenger seat; “Here you go,” and handed the can to Mr.V. I was still freezing from standing outside for our show in San Antonio. I grabbed the blanket off the floorboard and wrapped myself up in it. “Did you put your seatbelt back on?” he reminded me. “Oh yeah,” and I pulled the belt out, refastened it, then cocooned myself inside my blanket.

The sky outside was pitch black, but I could see the little pieces of ice coming toward the windshield, Star Wars style. “The boys are about 30 minutes behind us” he said.  I text Andy the message about the weather, then went back into staring at the falling ice. Gazing off into what felt like light years we traveled through to get back home, my speeding thoughts were able to catch up with my body, and I started to feel unified again.

Hypothermic; but together.

~

Sunday March 21, 2010 

Fashion show with some of the free merch I scored from Venom for modeling in their promo @ San Antonio. (AKA: "This is what we do when the internets is out.")

~

Monday March 22, 2010

Made it to Oklahoma. Met an amazing girl tonite, named Ashley, on the train. She could very well be my best friend Brandi, just from a different dimension. More on that tomorrow. 

<3,

Liz

Half the time/All is fair

I was getting ready to run some errands downtown when Brandi called around 1 o'clock. I'm not much of a phone person and neither is she. Since I haven't seen her in over a month, we've forced ourselves to become phone people so we can stay in touch. 

I miss Adam, my mom, Brandi, and the familiar comfort of Oklahoma. Talking to Brandi today helped fill that void of missing comfort. We caught up on our school/work news, family news, and of course boy news. She's recently entered back into a relationship and is re-adjusting her life to accommodate having a significant other around 24/7. "I don't even remember how this is supposed to go", she said. "You know, I was just thinking about that the other day. I don't even know what normal is anymore. I'm just making up the rules as I go", I confessed. After we got off the phone, I started to think about my statement.

In case it isn't evident, I should confess that my love life is D.O.A. Half the time this doesn't faze me, then half the time it does. I believe not knowing exactly how the dating and relationship world is supposed to work, has scared me into declining offers to join the ranks of lovers. They say, "Lovers Unite!" and I don't even know what enlisting into their company would entail. How can you expect me to be a part of something I can't grasp? I mean, I could, but I don't know if I'd be any good at it. I'm not going to lie, failure frightens me. So does war. Their response? 

All is fair in love and war. 

Pssssh! So basically what does that mean? Enlist or risk the draft? Hmmm... 

People ask me on a daily basis: "What do you want?" My answer: "I don't know. But I know what I don't want." Surely that's a step in some direction. I never have all the answers; right or wrong. 

Half the time this doesn't faze me, then half the time it does.

Future's so bright

And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger.

 

If the Blog Gods were vengeful and unforgiving, I'd surely be rotting in Blog Hell right now for not updating. Thankfully, they've given me another chance. After the past few weeks of working into day and night, meeting the deadline for Open Heart, I had to take a few Liz days. I'm pretty sure it also had something to do with the anniversary of my father's death, and I'm still dealing with that in my own way, alone. Today, I'm ready to rejoin society and I fully intend on doing that...

right after this cup of coffee.

Earlier this week, my younger brother and I were sitting outside on the balcony, (where everything happens it seems). "You know, I never thought a year ago I'd be applying to the University of Texas", he said. The sun was high, and I had to squint my eyes just to look at him. "I never thought a year ago I'd be here either", I replied. We both giggled. 

I didn't understand the full extent of what I had said to him until this weekend, when I found myself on a perfect Saturday afternoon, stuck in traffic on the back of a Harley with Mr.V. I noticed we were stopped near Six Flags, and began wondering why people pay for thrills. I haven't been to Six Flags in years. The sun was bright and I had to squint my eyes to look up at The Titan roller coaster. Suddenly it dawned on me. I've spent so much time focusing on my future goals, I hadn't given myself a few kudos that were due for accomplishing the first one: Moving to Texas.  

I said I was going to move here, and I did. Ha! Check that off the list today!

I love surprising myself through retrospection. 

That Saturday in particular, I gained a wealth of information regarding my artistic career goals from Mr.V. The advice he gave me, no one has ever brought to my attention before. I admire him for his honesty in his business. As always, I have more to think about, if this is truly the career path I want to follow. Perhaps that was another reason for taking a short leave from life a few days ago? I thought about it, and yes, this is what I want. I'm ready to revamp my plan to make my dreams a reality.

Working the show in Deep Ellum Saturday night was fun, and I nearly died laughing when one of the members of Tonight, Tonight! kept making, That Thing You Do, references. They were an amazing group of musicians [as well as a witty group of guys] and I can't wait to work with them again. Onwards and upwards, our next show is Escaping Gravity @ The Trees this Thursday, March 18th. Then onto the South Texas Motorcycle Expo in San Antonio. 

Seeing as how this cup of coffee is gone, guess that's my cue to rejoin the world.

One Year Later. [Only in dreams.]

Strange. Today everyone's been asking me if I'm okay. You'd think they knew too. Yep, it was a exactly a year ago today my father passed away. I had full intentions to begin the day just as I had intended to remember what would've been his 60th birthday on December 8, 2009; as a celebration of his life, instead of simply dwelling over the fact that he died. It makes me feel better about things, I suppose, to choose this route when remembering my father. But, somehow, my efforts were thwarted once again.

Here it is, one year later, and I'm still alone in the confusion, and efforts to completely accept that my father chose self destruction over all. I still remember the BIA police showing up to my mother's house that day. I knew what they were coming to tell us. Before the officer even made it to the door to deliver the message to my mother, I began pacing up and down the hallway of her house. I was chewing off my nails, looking down at the royal blue carpet. My mom grabbed me by the shoulders to make me stop. The rest of it is kind of hazy. But I remember her starting to tear up;

It says URGENT: Call your Aunt Wilma...

You better call [insert then boyfriend's name here], and tell him to come home.

NO. NO. NO! NO!

THIS ISN'T HAPPENING. THIS ISN'T HAPPENING!

 
I don't know why I dreamed it would feel any different a year later. Wishful thinking perhaps? 
Maybe I just need to go to bed.

"You're a hater!"

All I did last night was walk into the living room, and my brother Patrick snarkily declared, "You're a hater!" My response? "I am sometimes actually. I'm working on it though." He looked at me, confused that I even acknowledged his comment. I knew he was joking. However, it wasn't long ago, I came to the conclusion that yes; I can be a hater at times.

Allow me to elaborate.

One of my favorite mottos in life; "If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself." A recent ex-boyfriend of mine often jested that the song Short Skirt, Long Jacket by Cake was written for me, because of the lines; "I want a girl that gets up early. I want a girl that stays up late." He was right. That describes me to a, 'T'. I'm a go-getter. In the past 365 days, I've only become more ambitious about living life to the fullest extent.

This amplified way of living for me came from experiencing the death of three family members [losing one to alcoholism, one to homicide, and another due to natural causes], as well as cut off ties, 100%, from the most hazardous relationship I've ever been involved [which was a first for me]. Yep, all of that happened in one year, 2009. But don't get it twisted. In no way, shape, or form, do I or will I allow myself to stop living because of things not working out how I wanted them. Witnessing the unpredictably of life, how it can be taken from a person, pulled out from underneath them like a rug; its made me realize how much I want to live. 

I WANT TO LIVE.

So to honor that belief, I try to live every day like there's no tomorrow. I try to make a point of keeping out unnecessary negativity in my life. I try to open myself up to new experiences, keeping my, "regrets", count at a minimum. I also try to practice minimalism by not allowing myself to become centered around material possessions. I use the word, "try", because I slip every now and again. I fall into the cycle of old habits sometimes. I'm learning how to admit my imperfections, and move on from them so I can continue living in the present; not dwelling in the past. 

This mentality of mine has been known to diffuse, and I try to inspire the people in my life to share this way of living. I came to the realization that not everyone has the want to live their life in that manner. I learned this lesson in the past few months, through my relationship with my friend, Drake.

Drake is twenty-eight. He is currently serving in the Army while attending college, majoring in CIS, (computer information systems). He and his family endured tragedies throughout his life; including the kidnap, and years later, the rescue and return, of his younger sister. During his military training, he was involved in an accident with a Humvee that left him near paralyzed from the waist down. After he spent six months in the hospital recovering, he received orders to go to Iraq. The three tours he spent in the war-torn country total up to nine years of his life. Then when he came home, he and his spouse divorced. Anyone would agree, his struggle has been a long, hard road. 

In the past few months, he's spent his days in lethargy, unmotivated to get out of bed and go to class. "I can't even find the energy to go out and drink with my friends", he confessed to me this week. I laughed at his statement about not drinking, then asked why he felt that way. His reply? "I can't feel anymore. Nothing moves me to live." The instant dismay I felt when I heard him say those words forced a hostile reaction from me, "What do you mean you don't want to live?!" I demanded. We've gone through this discussion before, though this was the first time he told me he didn't feel moved to live. "My entire life has been an uphill battle dealing with shit. Every time I start dealing with one thing, something else comes up. The journey hasn't hit the down slide yet and I'm starting to think it never will. I give up."

That was his answer. 

I suggested several options to him; counseling, medical advice, living a healthier lifestyle, talking through the issues with me or any of his other friends and family. Each idea he opposed, stating he's tried each of them and none of the options helped. I told him he was just stuck in a rut, that it would pass, and to just give it time. We sat in complete silence for a few seconds. Then he pierced the tension; "When's it gonna stop, Liz? Huh? I've been waiting twenty-eight years for it to stop. It never gets better. Never." His words sounded hauntingly familiar. They forced me into a flash-back, where I heard a boy from my past life utter those same [last] words. Though Drake and I were not boyfriend and girlfriend, I felt our surroundings begin to shift, chaotically. Suddenly, through deja vu, time travel became possible.

Twenty seconds to the last call...

My eye contact darted from his. I lowered my head and shook off the ghostly moment. I didn't have a rebuttal, nor the words he wanted to hear. "All I can do is be here for you, Drake. I care for you, unconditionally." That was my answer. To care for someone unconditionally means to accept someone as they are, and not expect anything in return. Therefore, even though Drake doesn't share my outlook on life, I cannot hold that against him. My former self would've made it my goal to make his life better. In my opinion, that's a judgmental thought, and a narcissistic one at that.  Who was I to decide that his life should be better? And who was I to gauge his happiness or unhappiness with life?

A wise man once told me, "No one man's problems are bigger than any other man's problems." I had to remember this when trying to decide what would be the right thing to do. I didn't compare my problems and issues with the experiences and stresses Drake was dealing with. I didn't pretend to understand what it was like to spend nine years in Iraq either. I listened; and he continued to feel the same despair. I felt sympathetic for him, but I trust that he will find his own path, whatever it may be.

Drake isn't the only person I've come across on my pursuit of happiness that didn't agree with the viewpoint. He's just the first person who's opposed the idea, entirely. I have to accept that people will not always agree with it. To attack them, or their opinions would make me a "hater". When I reacted in anger at first, to the way Drake felt about his life, I realize that wasn't a forward movement in his pursuit or my own pursuit of happiness. The last thing I want to be is a hater, but I admit, I can be a hater. 

I'm working on it though.

U.S. 4th Infantry Division Patrols In Samarra

SAMARRA, IRAQ - AUGUST 12: U.S. Army 4th Infantry Division, 1st Battalion, 66th Regiment Specialist Brandon Drake from Killeen, Texas provides cover for a convoy as it passes the ancient stone minaret tower of the Great Mosque, which dates back to 847 A.D. Convoys and tanks from the 1-66 regularly come under fire from rocket propelled grenades and small arms as they patrol the streets of this ancient Iraqi city.

Photo: Scott Nelson/Getty Images
Aug 12, 2003

Its been a day.

It's been full steam ahead the past few days. Earlier this afternoon it started to catch up with me. I could feel that familiar, low-toned, vibrating in my brain. My body warns me to take a break through this method . It's like an alarm. I've experienced the consequences from ignoring this internal reminder.It isn't pretty. And writer's block would be inevitable if I didn't stop and rest my thoughts for a moment. I saved my work and shut my laptop down. Since the rain cleared out, I grabbed my hoodie off the floor and threw it on. Cigarettes ready to go in the pocket of my jacket, I headed outside.

I sat down in one of the plastic chairs on the balcony. I didn't have my cigarette lit before my phone began vibrating. [At least it wasn't my head this time.] I pulled the phone out of my pocket and looked at the screen:...New Message... Mom. I set the phone down on the tiny outdoor table, lit my cigarette, and inhaled. I stood up and walked from one end of the balcony, to the other. I noticed, caddy corner from my house, a white porcelain toilet on the neighbor's lawn. No one sitting on it, the lid down; a toilet; centered perfectly in the front yard. A young man walked outside from the house I was staring at. He was heading toward his car that was parked out in the road. He noticed me staring and he grinned at me and waved. I imagine he thought I was checking him out, but it was the outdoor plumbing system/abstract art installation I was enamored with, not him. If I had more energy, I would've walked downstairs, and asked him what the inspiration was behind such a peculiar work. With the thought of what answer he could possibly give me, I laughed and returned his wave,cigarette still in hand. He continued to grin until he got in his car, and in true, 'bad boy', fashion, peeled out in the street as he drove away.

I put out my cigarette, then let myself fall into the arms of the chair. Its synthetic body offered support without comfort. I didn't care though. It was good enough for the time being. I grabbed my phone to read the text message my mother sent...Ur Aunt Rhonda will be down on fri. We will be making a trip to the cemetery. I'd like to get flowers. I was kind of dumb-founded by her message. Surely she didn't think I would forget my Dad's, "Death Birthday", this weekend? We talked about it last week. My mother invented the term, "passive-aggressive", though, and suddenly it clicked in my head. This was her way of communicating the magnitude of the loss she still felt. I share that same feeling. I can't believe its been a year since he left for The Great Gig in the Sky. I'm still in the grieving process with my mom. I decided to return her text with a phone call and began dialing.

"I'm at a Dr.'s appointment", she answered. "Okay well call me later... I love you mom". In actuality, I knew she wouldn't share a deep conversation with me. She sends awkward messages when she wants to talk, or rather, when she needs some reassurance. "I love you too", she said, and she quickly hung up on me. I came back into the house and ate lunch. But I wasn't ready to jump back into writing after eating. I'd been working all night and morning. So instead, I picked up my acoustic guitar and started playing.

I should note that I'm not a musician. Playing guitar has always been just a hobby of mine. Over the weekend, my little brother heard me playing our brother Patrick's Fender. "What was that?!??!", he demanded to know. "I think I finished writing an entire song", I admitted. So we recorded it. Playing guitar offered a release of emotions I wasn't even aware I had inside of me. I literally felt...better; mentally and spiritually. I still don't know chords. I play by ear. I prefer that method. I don't think I'll ever be up to musician standards, but I intend to make more time for guitar since it isn't just passing time these days. It's become a form of therapy, if that makes sense.

I had to make myself stop playing today after 30 minutes so I would get back to writing. When the sun began to set around 6pm, I put the editing away. Its not writer's block. My brain is running on empty and could definitely benefit from doing NOTHING for the rest of the the night.

I'll finish it tomorrow. It's been a day.

#nowplaying  If I Ever Feel Better = Phoenix

The To-Do-List.

Today was the official starting point of Operation: Get off the boat. In keeping with the tune of my true self, I decided to journey back onto land in style. My entrance song of choice; of course it had to be  The Beatles. Nothing says, "classy, timeless, full of hope, and successful", quite like the Fab Four. Those four adjectives best describe my objectives during my second tour out into the world. It's all or nothing now. I have to learn the art of juggling; starting with my career goals and myself.

As much as I'd love for it to be, this operation is not solely a vacation for leisure. I've still got the infamous, "To-Do-List", and the deadline to submit my writing work to Open Heart Publishing in Dallas, TX is March 15, 2010. That gives me exactly seven days to finish writing one story, then edit two for content. Not to mention, formatting both stories for professional submission standards.

Chances are, I won't get everything on this list done today. It will inevitably be revamped, things crossed off and things added to it. I accept all of the above possibilities. I can't waste a moment fretting whether or not the list will get done in its entirety overnite, or that its changing daily. Part of the purpose of making the list is to declare what my goals are. When I see the goals written, it helps me visualize the path to obtaining the things I want out of life. Its also a handy little reminder of things that are important to me during those, "What the fuck am I still doing here?" moments. The list isn't ever going to do itself, though. What I decide to do with the goals, once they're conceived on paper, is entirely up to me.

Life is all about choices. Think about it. Or don't.

At least I gave the goals on my list a name, and a chance at life.

Shoreline 3/7

Saturday nite, and where was I? At a club with friends, partying til dawn? Nope. On a date with some really hot guy, talking about philosophy and life over dinner. Wrong again. I was at home, doing laundry, listening to The Beatles, and working on writing samples to send to a publishing company in Dallas. I'm so exciting these days, right?

Earlier, Saturday afternoon, I talked to my friend Bear and told him I was starting to feel like a nerd because I hadn't made friends in the three months since I moved here. "All I do these days is work on my art, make sure I spend time with my family, and on occasion, visit my friends when I'm in Oklahoma", I confessed. "That's good, you're being productive", he responded. "No. It's not", I said; "I should at least attempt to make some connections with people in this area". That's when I began to realize I was slowly becoming like Sydney Prescott from Wes Craven's SCREAM movies; 

SYDNEY: Hey detective, what's your favorite scary movie?
DETECTIVE: (laughs) My life.
SYDNEY: Mine too.


Since August 2009, I've kept myself moving on a mental/spiritual voyage of sorts, sailing in solitude, exploring the seas of my career goals, and my relationship with myself. It was also my belief that by staying in constant motion, I would keep myself out of harm's way.

Psychos can't kill what they can't find.

Cliche as it sounds, its not so much the people I fear I may meet; its me. I fear my own assessment in the character of people and their intentions. I mean, I'm not completely void of human interaction. However, I recognize that I am preventing myself from forming new personal relationship bonds with people by limiting my time with them; particularly, one-on-one interactions. Accepting any invitations to live life outside of my to-do list are not in my best interests, presently. This is what I have convinced myself into believing.

These days, I'm a fighter, which is in response to surviving 2009's terrorist worthy attacks on all of my states; physical, spiritual, mental and emotional. Fighting isn't my true self nature, but I wanted to survive. Now my mind tells me that in order to survive any possible attack in the future, I have to fight, or avoid the potential to be forced into another battle. So to stay true to myself, I've started to avoid conflict at nearly any cost. My want to be vulnerable vs. my need to be vigilant is a double-edged sword that cuts through the core of my entire being, splitting it in two pieces.

I know I need to take some time to anchor and regroup. I need to remember that I am capable of trusting in myself and the decisions I make. If I trust in myself, I can exude that ability. It may not always be reciprocated, but sailing the ocean of life in solitude forever isn't exactly living. You can't live on a boat, forever, right? With that being said, I intend to find shoreline and rejoin the masses of land-lovers very soon. Threats won't ever cease to exist, on land, or in constant sail-at-sea. There will always be pirates you have to watch out for, ready to steal your booty at any moment. [Pun entirely intended.]

I bet even Ferdinand Magellan had to stop and take a breather somewhere on his nautical voyage around the world.

A technicolor mess.

Sitting outside on the balcony tonite, smoking a cigarette, I noticed the air felt cool, heavy and still. The sky wasn't completely dark, but the streetlight that was burned out made the scene appear darker than it truly was. I sat in silence, surveying the surroundings from my heightened view. I debated whether or not to say something out loud, to interrupt the nite's emo-worthy moment. "No", I thought to myself, and instead, I honored the evening's improptu sabbath and remained silent. I didn't want to take the chance of my neighbors hearing me talk out loud during this quiet time, anyhow.

Out of the pitch black abyss, and into a tiny patch of street lit up from a flood light from someone's front porch, I noticed a man wearing baggy jeans and a black hoodie running down the street. I was tempted to yell in his direction, "Its nite time and you're not even dressed for running! Why are you running?!" Instead I just continued to smoke my cigarette and watched him jog down the street, past my house.

"Neat", I said to myself, out loud.

I'm convinced that the eerie, mysterious aura of tonite was due to the mis-communications that I experienced earlier in the day. The melancholy tone that hung in the branches of the hovering, tall oak trees of my neighborhood; none of that was real. It was a figment of my imagination. Something I had created to make myself feel as if some being out there understood me, other than myself. The sky and street served as the eager canvases in which my inner-most private thoughts decided to paint their self portraits upon, Jackson Polluck style.

It was a technicolor mess to say the least.

Everything moves me these days. (Let the sunshine in.)

I couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort this morning when I woke up to the sunlight sneaking into my bedroom. Carefully maneuvering it's rays around the curtains on my bedroom window, the sun found its way onto my bed and shined its sunbeams into my eyes. I realize there are people who hate when that happens. That's not me. Even at the shittiest of times I feel grateful every morning I wake up. I smile because waking up means I've been given another day to live. Sounds melodramatic, but in the past year I've learned how to appreciate everything more, including life. With the skies clear, the sun sitting fat and happy in the sky, I waltzed my happy ass outside to take it all in from the balcony of my house.

Everything moves me these days.

Most of my afternoon was productive. I dove into work from 10am - 5pm. I kept getting distracted from my to-do list because I couldn't stop myself from daydreaming in the key of nostalgia. To keep with my promise of being completely honest with myself and everyone else in my life, I must admit, I am truly a nostalgic being. That character trait was once my mortal enemy, challenging me, then forcing me to submit to its darker side because it knew my weaknesses, thoroughly. Not so much now. I've learned how to stand up for myself and look nostalgia right in the face when it approaches me. I deal with it instead of hiding from it. I've learned to forgive. Through the art of forgiveness, I'm learning how to handle and cope with all of the memories I have from my life. I don't regret anymore, as I have in the past. Plus, living my life day-to-day, like I'll never get the chance to wake up again with the sun in my eyes; this way of living helps me in my present life to live each day to the fullest amount possible. Its no surprise I'm busy 24/7 now. That's called living.

I should emphasize the "-ing", at the end of that word.

Aisle, aisle, aisle.

It was almost 9 o' clock in the morning when I found myself boarding a train. There weren't many passengers on the rail car and it splashed a bit of relief over me. More room to stretch out and make myself comfy is what I'm trying to say. While sitting in my royal blue, cushioned, airliner type seat, I noticed a tall, middle-aged, blonde haired woman standing in the aisle. I thought she was lost at first, and I began to sit up and clear my throat to speak to her. When I sat up straight, I realized she wasn't lost. This woman in the aisle was talking to the older man I saw at the train station earlier, before we all boarded. I had briefly noticed the two talking in the station thirty minutes prior.

When I noticed them at the station, the woman talked to the man like she had known him for years. However, his arms crossed over his chest and impatient foot tapping on the tile floor of the train station made their relationship appear as anything but friendly. Both were carrying laptop cases and I assumed they were co-workers, or maybe even members of a secret yuppie society I wasn't aware existed. Like Fight Club; Rule #1: Don't talk about Fight Club, and here, this lady couldn't shut up about it. I get it now. That's why the man's demeanor seemed to grow more irritated with each word that rushed out of the woman's mouth. Her matte pink lips served as a useless dam, allowing words to flood from her mouth. I caught a few snippets from the one way conversation: "in the F.B.I.", "that's why", "so cool", and, "I was excited". I'm certain I paid more attention to the woman's talking than did the object of her intentions...(whatever those were).

But back to the train...

So here was this woman, holding onto the overheard compartment loosely, standing in the middle aisle, trying to stir up a conversation with this guy who was slumped down in his seat, holding his coat over his upper body like a blanket, staring out the window as the woman went on and on. There was an empty seat next to the one he sat in, yet he didn't offer it to her and she didn't ask to sit. I had to wonder why she didn't seem to get the hint that he wasn't interested in discussing Fight Club, the F.B.I., newly release cinemas, or anything for that matter. I imagine it didn't faze her because she never stopped talking to even notice. If the man did decide to communicate with this woman, it would've taken an operator to emergency intercept her non-stop monologue to give him an opportunity of silence to begin a sentence.

After twenty minutes had passed, and I directed my attention to writing dates in my new planner, I looked up again and was sucked back into the blonde, black hole. 

Really? She's still standing in the aisle? And he still hasn't asked her to sit down? Damn. That lady's got some perseverance and stamina. I didn't know if I was supposed to be sympathetic or envious of her, "I'm not a quitter", outlook. Another twenty minutes passed and she was still standing there in the aisle. I began to repeat that word to myself because its not a word that I use often;

Aisle, aisle, aisle.

I looked down at her hands and noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Ah-ha! I get it now! I wanted to offer this woman the empty seat next to mine so I could break the news to her gently. I wanted to tell her that the guy she was pursuing didn't care to engage in conversation with her and didn't care that she had been standing in the aisle on a train for over an hour, trying to share a connection with him. If he wouldn't engage in conversation with her, chances are he wouldn't engage in anything else with her. And he would never care how long she stood at the end of any aisle, namely a wedding aisle, waiting. 

All I can afford to give.

The past few days have felt a bit like I’ve been walking around in a dream. Possibly like a reoccurring nightmare. I know that it has a lot to do with thinking about the past, facing disappointment and falling into old habits in dealing with the things life has to throw at me. I hate feeling like I’m walking around in a minefield. An old familiar mine field, watching each step I carefully take. I like being able to skip around freely, but I suppose that’s a fairytale way of living. Despite the fact that I am a girl, I don’t want to live in a Disneyland princess reality. I want the good and bad life has to offer. It’s what defines me.

Much of my despondent attitude has to do with my mother, I’m sure of it. Visiting Oklahoma last week brought back some of the issues I thought I had buried there, but being around my mom brings those issues up to the forefront. Since my father passed away last year, in feels like my mother isn’t here anymore either, or rather that she doesn’t want to be here since he’s gone. My biggest issue with my mom is that she doesn’t really like to be around me. This isn’t something I’m saying because I want to feel bad; this is a direct quote from her mouth. She’s told me that I remind her of my father so much, partly because I look like him, but more so at the fact that I’m their “lovechild”; the product of my parents wanting to create a bond that would hold them together for all eternity. This has proven to be in my favor and a factor that works against my entire being.

When I visited home last week, it didn’t take my mother five minutes to lay into me with verbal assaults. I thought I had grown used to the stings of her phrases, but they bit me in new ways. Maybe it’s because I’ve been gone for so long I've grown accustomed to the drama free lifestyle my brothers and I have created in our happy, humble abode. These days it seems as if it irks my mother to even look at me in the eyes, in the face, when I’m talking to her. The way her eyes quickly dart away when I’m trying to hold a civil conversation with her, or any conversation for that matter, couldn’t make me feel anymore unwelcome in her life than if I was a sales circular that showed up in her mailbox; annoying and useless. It shouldn’t be any surprise that this affects me, entirely.

At the very least this gets my mind reeling about my own life. In one sense, I want to be a good daughter. I want to keep trying to get through to her to help her get through the grief of losing my father. In another sense, I feel like I’m going to waste my own life trying to make hers better. With both my parents, this has been my life story. I guess that’s due to the fact that they chose to bring me into this world under those circumstances; to make their life and love better. In the end, my father chose alcoholism over everything else. The idea of bringing a life into this world to try and fix theirs, failed. The woe-is-me part of myself wants to say that I should think that I’m a failure, but I don’t feel that way. I feel like I was brought upon this earth to do something bigger than what they had intended for me. Nevertheless, I want to help my mom, but what do I do if my attempts aren't working? I don't want to give up on her, she's my mom.

There's more to this, but at the present moment, this is all I can afford to give.